A Purely Anatomical Interest
by SpideychelleCarwheelerTrash
Summary: MJ has imagined Peter Parker taking his shirt off in front of her many times. Now that it's happening, though, everything is so much more confusing. Killer drones, secret identities, illusion tech, and a super-fraud: it's enough all on its own, and MJ knows she's capable of handling it. Peter Parker's abs, though? Those are another story.


_Slam, thud._

The door to Peter's hotel room slams shut behind them, causing both Peter and MJ to start slightly in the quiet of the suite. The noise is followed by the soft thump of their shared discovery as Peter tosses it on his bed. In the middle of the refined hotel room, the hunk of advanced metal tech is almost humorously out of place.

Or, at least, it would be humorous if everything weren't so real all at once.

Suddenly, the soft humming of the radiator that was so calming when MJ initially settled into her own hotel room now seems ominous, like a quiet whisper that she can't quite make out, no matter how hard she tries.

The warm glow the light casts over everything now feels ironic as Peter immediately launches to action, shooting to close the curtains. MJ is left standing in the center of the room, watching as the dweeb (whose relationship to her is far too confusing to contemplate at the moment) leaps into the action. Every little, paranoid measure he takes seems almost like second nature to him, something that strikes MJ as both amusing in a twisted way and a little sad.

How much of this, she can't help but wonder, is a result of losing so much to the Blip?

Peter's quiet mutterings snap MJ away from her quiet analysis of Peter Parker, and she simply watches and listens as he continues."

"I can't believe I gave back those glasses," Peter breathes, peeking through the curtains one last time for good measure. Before the blue gingham has even had a chance to flutter back into place, he is already across the room and situated at his laptop. "I mean, how could I be that stupid? He's probably spying on me right now, or sending a drone to come and kill me."

MJ knows that the proper response is probably something like, "No, you're not stupid, anyone would have made that mistake-" or whatever, but nothing of that sort leaves her lips as she turns to stare at him. Her eyes widen as she stares burning holes into the loser across the room, incredulous.

"You had access to _killer drones?"_

Okay, so not her smartest comment; after a quick examination of the statement, she supposes that his killer-spandex probably have given him access to a number of dangerous weapons. But drones... That sounds like something that she's read about in one of her many conspiracy theories, except this?

This is real, in a way that fills her with both a pressing sense of anxiety and the strange, slightly macabre urge to laugh. After all, this is her life now, and he's talking about things that sound like they came out of a low-budget sci-fi movie in complete seriousness.

"Yeah. I didn't really want 'em, especially after I almost killed Brad," Peter mumbles. He ignores her stare for a moment, and MJ can't help but be slightly grateful. She's sure her eyes are bugging out of her head, and for a moment, she can't even find words.

_"You almost killed Brad?"_

Peter's eyes snap to her then, and at that moment he at least has the good sense to appear slightly sheepish and flustered as well. Now, MJ is acutely aware of the fact that she is standing in the middle of a chaotic, jumbled mess in Peter's hotel room, and she's pretty sure that he's being struck by the same sort of realization.

Just when MJ thinks he might address it, Peter opens his mouth, hesitates for a fraction of a second, and moves on. "Look, I have to call Mr. Fury and tell him Beck's a fraud, but... I think he tapped my phone."

_Right, right. Okay._ There's really no time to think about what this means; no time to think about them, about the weird walk on the bridge, about anything but the strange simulation tech that is sinking into the duvet and mattress topper.

MJ can tell that Peter's mind is moving quickly, perhaps too fast even for him. He's trying to think, but he's not processing anything but his panic, and MJ knows that if he continues down this path he's going to overanalyze himself into a meltdown.

Luckily, MJ's expertise with conspiracy theory has brought her to the point that little can shock her, and this affinity for true crime has also taught her how to react in a crisis. Granted, most of the crises are hypothetical (except for the current political climate in the US, but that is an issue for another day), but any experience is beneficial if it makes her helpful in a situation like this.

"Okay, so what are you gonna do?" MJ's voice is sharp, practical as she scrutinizes Peter. For a moment, his eyes flicker to hers, and MJ can see the shifting of his brain into gear as his face loses that stupidly adorable flustered expression. A quiet sort of confidence is left in its place.

"Um, I need my suit," Peter begins, and MJ offers a small nod. There. He's figuring out what he needs to do now, and she can tell that her logical question was enough to ground him. "And I have to go to Berlin and talk to Mr. Fury in person."

With that, Peter jumps into action, and MJ observes him as he grabs a dark bundle of fabric (pfft, "Night Monkey" her _ass_) and immediately begins to remove his shirt and pants.

It takes MJ a moment to even process what is happening. As soon as it hits, her eyes shoot open so quickly it hurts. Peter doesn't realize their compromising situation quite as quickly as MJ, but when he does, his mouth falls open slightly.

His eyes meet her own, and for a moment, they stand in front of each other just staring.

MJ can see the beginning of a slight, awed smile that Peter is trying to hide, and so she quickly looks anywhere else. Unfortunately, the only other option presented her is, well–

_Nope. Nope, nope, nope, nope-ity nope, nope, nope._

_They're just muscles,_ MJ tries to remind herself as they seem to stare her down. _Just anatomical structures meant to allow movement of the skeleton. They're useful, and that's all. There's nothing about them that's supposed to be aesthetically pleasing..._

_Oh, but they **are**._

It is only then that MJ realizes that the pair of them have been staring. Heat floods her cheeks. MJ swallows, clenching her jaw, and offers him what might be an attempt at a nod before she slowly revolves, turning to face the wall. There is a moment of hesitation as her eyes find the fancy wallpaper, seizing on the pattern as the rustling and zipping of fabric resumes.

Maybe if MJ stares at the wall designs enough they will erase the image of Peter's bare chest that has burned itself into her mind.

This proves to be just wishful thinking, however. No matter how hard MJ tries to think her way out of this one, to focus on something, anything else, all her brain can scream at her about is the fact that Peter Parker is standing behind her, half-naked and built like one of the Spider-Man action figures in the stores.

She always had thought them to be an exaggeration, but nope.

Maybe this doesn't have to be a weird thing. The thought comes out of nowhere, and MJ's eyes drift upward as she tries to keep herself from considering it. Maybe if she focuses on the light fixture above her–

_You had a chance on the bridge, and you blew it,_ the voice in her brain realizes. _You lied._

A little pang of guilt worms its way through her stomach, and MJ is having trouble ignoring it. She searches for any way to ease it, but there isn't one. MJ's policy is honesty, even when it hurts. Now that she's broken it, she understands why.

Because even if the truth hurts, it doesn't hurt as much as it does to hide it.

And here is a chance to make it right. It is for this reason that MJ slowly begins to turn, eyes traveling to the side as she waits for the loser that she's been crushing on for years to come into view. But each second that it takes to turn adds to the panic in her chest, and at the very last moment, MJ's stomach lurches to tell her she can't do it.

_Okay. It's fine, it's okay._ MJ snaps her head back forward so that she is facing opposite him, squeezing her eyes shut. For a few seconds, MJ takes deep breaths as she struggles to regain her composure.

Alright, this is stupid.

_It's Peter Parker,_ MJ reminds herself. Her mental voice is chastising now, fed up with the amount of pure, unfiltered teen stupidity that is running rampant through her brain right now.

This is the kid who tripped on the way onto the bus, smacked into the side railing, and then apologized to it. He's not some terrifying, unapproachable person; he's him, and that's why MJ likes him. _Maybe even more than that._

And that's why he deserves the truth.

MJ takes a deep breath, slowly allowing her eyes to open. After a minute, she deliberately sucks in some air, parting her lips. It'll take two seconds, she reasons, to tell the truth. _So go._ And with that thought, MJ begins to speak.

"So-"

_What if he doesn't feel the same for you, and when he looks at you his stupid puppy-eyes have pity in them?_

The thought crashes into MJ out of nowhere like a semi-truck into a smart car. It knocks the breath out of her lungs, and before she even has time to think, words come tumbling out of her mouth.

"There's actually three types of muscle in your body. Or, at least, in the human body. I don't really know what kind of muscles there are in the spider body, so I guess that you could have some weird, hybrid-type muscle going on. You know, because of the radiation."

Each syllable follows directly on the heels of the last one, sending them all stumbling into one another as they hit the air in a rapid-fire burst. The movement of the fabric behind MJ stops suddenly, sending the room into silence for a moment.

MJ might be imagining it, but when Peter speaks, she swears that she can hear a bit of breathlessness in his confused tone. "MJ, what are you-"

The panic returns again, this time in a stronger surge, and MJ knows that she can't let him talk. She can't let him, because what if he says something and it hurts? So there's only one alternative left.

"There's smooth muscle, which some of your organs are made out of. It's the slimy stuff, and it kind of does its own thing, so you don't really see much of it. Then there's cardiac muscle."

"MJ-"

"It's the stuff that makes up your heart, and it's pretty weird-lookin'. Kinda got that whole bamboo aesthetic goin' on, you know? It's called striation. Also, each cell has more than one nucleus, so that's pretty cool, too. I wish Flash had more than one brain; it might make up for some of the stupid."

"Wait, I don't-"

"Then there's skeletal muscle, which is the type you can actually build. That's the stuff the bodybuilders have a ton of. It weighs, like, a ton or something, and it's basically the stuff that moves around your bones, kind of like puppet strings. So your skeleton is one big puppet, and then your muscles are the things that make it dance around like a marionette."

"Um, okay. So that's all pretty cool and creepy, but-"

"Right? So there's no reason for muscles to be attractive."

MJ stares at the wall all the more fiercely, her breath becoming even more shallow as silence stretches between them. She swears she can hear Peter's breathing catch in his throat, but before she has time to analyze it, MJ surges ahead.

"They're really just useful, so there's nothing that impressive about building them up, right? Like, bodybuilding competitions are just weird. 'Oh, huh, you have the same stuff everyone else has, you just wasted more time and energy than anyone else on pointless movements. So, here's a trophy.' All that having muscles means is that you did the same thing that everyone else already does to function a couple extra times. So this whole thing everyone has for muscles is really weird."

MJ can barely hear Peter's slightly constricted interjection. "MJ, I-"

"Some scientists think that it has to do with the whole strength thing. Apparently, our monkey brains like looking at someone who has whatever body type is the hardest to get because it means that that person is powerful. Since today, food is less difficult to obtain for a larger percentage of the population, someone who is muscular or skinny has sex appeal. That's why when everyone was, like, starving to death and dying of dysentery and plague, being well-fed and heavier was seen as the ideal body type."

MJ is fully aware that, to date, talking about diseases involving violent episodes of diarrhea has not been a particularly successful seduction method. But now that she has started talking, MJ can't stop. She needs to say anything, anything and everything.

She needs to say everything because if she stops talking she knows she's going to have to say the truth.

"So, by that logic, muscles aren't really attractive. They're just the hardest thing to get, so they're the most sought-after," MJ rambles, seizing a panicked breath between statements. "Pretty lame, really, how capitalistic attitudes ruin our standards of beauty. It's one of the many evils of the system-"

"_MJ_." Peter seems to have recovered his voice, though it is slightly lower and huskier than normal.

MJ clenches her fists, and her breath seems determined not to leave her as she attempts to burn holes in the wall with her eyes. Maybe, if she stares hard enough, she can set the building on fire, and then they never have to talk about this situation ever again. Or, hey, they don't know the full capabilities of the advanced technology on Peter's bed. If MJ presses the right button, it could open a hole in the ground that will swallow MJ right up.

Deep down, though, MJ knows that whatever happens next is inevitable. There's no avoiding the discussion that's going to follow, so she might as well let it happen to her. MJ lets out the held breath in a soft sigh, loosening her fists.

"Yeah, loser?" MJ's voice is quiet, and though the words themselves have confidence, she can't keep a note of hesitation out of her voice.

"I, uh– could you turn around?" Peter's voice is just as flustered and uncertain, and something about it calms her. It is for this reason that MJ nods, and before she can stop herself, slowly turns herself around.

As soon as she does, MJ can feel all the blood in her body return to her face again. She manages to keep herself frozen, at the very least, but the hammering in her heart makes it feel like someone has shoved Usain Bolt into MJ's chest cavity. Because, though Peter has the suit on up to his neck, she can still see every single muscle in Peter Parker's chest, each one only further highlighted by the gleaming, black, suit.

MJ can't help but think that if there is a God out there, She must have chiseled each and every sculpted rise and fall in Peter's chest Herself.

In order to preserve her sanity, though, MJ locks her eyes onto Peter's own. In them, she finds the same alarming depth that is there every time she glances his way. As her eyes fix themselves onto his own, MJ knows that it is this deep, dark warmth that keeps her looking his way, keeps her observant.

As she looks into them now, she sees a tangle of emotions: hesitation, uncertainly, awkwardness. But what she sees that causes her heart to skip a few beats is the hope that ties it all together.

"So, um..." Peter starts awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. MJ swallows thickly, pursing her lips, but she doesn't look away. "I-I'm sorry. I should've thought about it before I started, uh, changing. You didn't consent to seeing that, so..."

"Uh, no, it– it's fine," MJ replies, a little too quickly. For a second, there is more silence, and they both quickly look away from each other.

MJ's gaze snaps back to his, though, when Peter clears his throat. When her eyes find the slightly awed smile forming on his lips, though, she can't breathe again. Her eyes narrow just a bit, and the question that leaves her lips is slow and careful. "What?"

Peter quickly erases the smile, but a fraction of the expression remains in his wide eyes. "Uh, nothing," he stammers. "I mean, we just established that, um, there's really no reason for anyone to find my muscles attractive."

MJ isn't sure quite how to respond to that one, but it's easier to give him a quick, stiff nod than it is to address the warm tingling in her stomach, so that is what she does. "So?"

Peter's eyes lock on her own, and they hold all of the familiar things: nervousness, for one thing, and an acute awareness that whatever he is about to do it probably a bad idea. There's also a gleam of intensity, though, and this is what prevents MJ from looking away as he speaks.

"Well, uh... I guess, even if that's true, I wouldn't be upset if you did."

That statement sucks all of the breathable oxygen out of the room, and MJ's eyes widen as she gawks at him. She has to process this– she needs to run his statement through her head once, then twice, and then maybe three or four more times for good measure...

_No_.

For once, a smooth, cooling silence settles itself over the chaos in MJ's head. As she looks at him, letting his words wash over her, MJ realizes that there is no pity in those eyes, no matter how hard she looks. In fact, if she looks hard enough, she can see something else, something that scares her for a different reason.

Something that scares her in a _good_ way.

So, when MJ speaks this time, it isn't to drown him out or to hold herself back, and it isn't in a jumble of words. This time, her words aren't meant to beat away the fear, they're meant to embrace it– and they're meant to do it in as few words as possible.

"Good." The one word is enough to fill the space between them, and as soon as it drops from her lips the ripples it creates expand into crashing waves that roar in her ears. Peter's eyes widen across from MJ, but then the smile is returning.

When he looks at MJ, Peter looks like he has never seen anything like her before– he looks at her with an admiration that is pure and whole. It's not the sort of absentminded appreciation that one has for a sparkling jewel or a static painting, something meant to be seen and not touched. This is the wonder inspired by a storm rolling in with massive, crashing waves, all of the awe that accompanies a brilliant sunrise, the kind of art that will never quite fit in a frame.

MJ lets out a shaky breath, and then she is taking a step to close the distance between them. Immediately, Peter matches it, and then they are so close that their chests are almost touching, so close that MJ has to tip her head down slightly to maintain eye contact with him.

Slowly, experimentally, MJ raises a hand and brings it to rest on Peter's upper chest. It is warm, solid beneath her fingertips and the suit, and MJ can feel the sharp gasp that her touch causes in Peter Parker. Her eyes rise to meet his, and when they do there is a playful glimmer in them. In response, Peter slowly lets his hand wrap around the back of her neck, resting where his fingers can tangle in the baby curls at the nape.

His touch makes MJ nervous, but this is a different kind of nervous. These are the nerves that result from knowing that something is coming... Something soon, and something that is going to change everything you thought you knew for the better.

"Because even if I did like looking at your stupid arms or anything," MJ informs Peter, composed though the inches between them seem to tingle with expectation, "it's only because I'm an inquisitive person with... With a purely anatomical interest."

Peter's thumb travels lightly along the side of her neck, barely skimming the skin as he looks up at her. His smile only grows then, and MJ isn't sure if her body is built to process the slight hint of adoration she can see in his irises.

"I-I think I can live with that," Peter manages to say, his voice an octave higher than normal. "And, um... Maybe, when I get back from Berlin, we could have– I dunno. An anatomy lesson?"

MJ stares at him for a minute, face completely inscrutable. Peter's eyes widen as he realizes what he's said, and MJ watches as his eyes dart around the room, clearly searching for a means of escape.

"Wait, I– uh, I didn't mean it like-like that, I-"

It's Peter's panicked stammering that causes MJ to break. The laughter that bursts from her is wild and unexpected, and it can't possibly surprise Peter more than it surprises MJ. But there, in the middle of the hotel room, MJ can't help but sit in the middle of it all and laugh. Peter joins in too, after a minute, and when they step away from each other it's with a new sort of ease that MJ has only tasted around him before.

"You didn't just say that."

"Um," Peter says with a grin, rubbing his neck sheepishly as he strides to the window. "Maybe you can forget about that while I'm gone?"

"No chance."

"Yeah, I knew it was a long shot."

The window slides open, then, and as the night air enters the room, the sort of frenzied relief that MJ feels darts out into the darkness of Prague. As MJ turns to face Peter, there is something different in her eyes– something determined. "Hey, dork."

Peter, who has by now effortlessly leaped into the open window, turns to face her. He has pulled down the mask on his suit now, and MJ can't help but miss his dark eyes as she stares into the glassy, opaque ones. "Yeah?" he asks, and just the sound of his stupid voice is enough to make her heart twinge again, renewing the uncertain tension.

"Come back."

For a minute, those opalescent eyes lock on her own, and MJ thinks that Peter is going to turn without saying anything. But then, his stupid voice pipes up, slightly constricted and forced in its optimism.

"Well, yeah. Who else will be able to get you that anatomy lesson?"

MJ can't stop the shocked laugh that leaves her, and she slowly shakes her head. "Okay, yeah. Get out before I call Flash and tell him you have a thing for teacher-student stuff."

"Yes, ma'am," Peter replies, saluting her in response. His gaze lingers a little longer on her, though, and she could swear his body language softens. "Um... Bye, MJ. I'll be back soon." He moves to leave through the window then, but MJ finds herself lurching forward.

"Wait," she says quickly, and Peter immediately freezes and turns back to her. As soon as he turns, his arm shoots out to catch the piece of tech that MJ has just tossed his way. "You're gonna need this."

"Oh." Peter's sheepish voice causes warmth to crawl up the back of MJ's neck. "Thanks."

"Let me know when you get there." MJ isn't sure what prompts her to say it.

Peter gives her one quick, final nod, lingering for a moment before he finally leaps into the night. MJ is left in his hotel room with the sounds of Prague drifting in through the open window. As she moves to close it, though, MJ realizes that those aren't the only things that Peter has left with her.

MJ now has a slightly better understanding of the anatomy of who Peter is... And, though she can't quite explains why, MJ knows that once they manage to get through this mess, there are going to be plenty of lessons for the both of them on the other side.


End file.
